by Nancy Gideon
“And they trusted Cale?”
“More than you know or he’d ever believe. With their lives. And mine.” At Kendra’s sharp look, she added, “When we told you about my little car accident . . . it wasn’t an accident. Someone ran us off the road into the swamp.” Before her cousin could express her shock, Brigit added, “Cale got me out before the car went under water. He saved me and this little guy.” Her palm rubbed over her belly as her eyes got glossy. “I will love him for the rest of my life for that.”
“Who did it?” Kendra asked faintly.
“We don’t know. One of the Guedrys trying to erase the threat of this baby. Someone who thought Max and Cee Cee were inside.” She shrugged eloquently.
“What’s he doing for Silas? How afraid should I be?”
“Cale’s here after James. Silas is trying to bring down the players involved in a fight ring. Max is after the heartless monsters from the North who stole his memories. You should be very afraid because he isn’t, and he should be.”
“And the scars on Cale’s hand? Who put them there?”
She listened in silent horror as Brigit described the events played out in the hallway surrounding Max’s mysterious visitor, his mother’s sister Genevieve, an icy-blooded elitist from the North who’d stripped Max of his past in an attempt to bend his will to hers. A situation ending badly when she came face-to-face with one of the Terriot clan whom she held responsible for the decimation of her family.
“I didn’t know females of our kind could shift.” Brigit’s tone conveyed her shock and wonder. “If I hadn’t witnessed it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it now. She was on Cale before any of us could blink. He barely escaped. Max kept her from going after him.”
“What happened to her? Is she still a threat?”
“She promised she would be. From what I’ve managed to twist out of my brother, which wasn’t easy, they think she developed the chemicals they’re lacing into that drug, Kick, as a way to manipulate our kind.”
“And this is what Cale’s gotten involved in?” Her face had gone nearly bloodless.
“Just the tip of the iceberg, I suspect.” Brigit reached out to squeeze her hand tightly. “I’m afraid for him, Kendra. He acts like a man who has nothing to lose. At first, I thought he was trying to prove something to Silas.”
“No,” Kendra corrected quietly. “To himself. And to me. The sins of the father. He’s trying to atone for them all.”
Brigit scoffed at that. “Bram Terriot was a bully and a brute. I used to think Cale was just like him, but I was wrong. When Cale tossed his crazy ass out and refused to become just like him, he made everything right in my book.”
“Then why isn’t he at home taking care of that crown he wanted so badly? Why is everything he’s told me a lie?” Kendra’s voice shattered, crumbling just like her hopes and dreams.
And, as always, Brigit came to the rescue.
“It wasn’t a lie, Kendra. He’s here to make things safe for us and the next generation we’ve started. He could have stayed up on your mountain out of harm’s way, protecting his own and letting the rest of us go to hell. That’s the Terriot way. But he’s smart enough, just like Silas, to see that the problem here is everyone’s problem, and it isn’t going to go away unless someone stands against it.”
“Why does it have to be him?”
“Because he’s strong enough to bear the burden of what he has to do. He always has been. That doesn’t make him a liar. It makes him a hero.”
“I thought I was your hero.”
The low, gruff voice brought a look to Brigit’s face Kendra had never seen before. Bliss. Utter, complete bliss.
“You are, honey bear, and you know it,” she purred, reaching out for a huge paw of a hand to draw it to her lips.
Giles St. Clair wasn’t what Kendra expected. She’d seen the endless parade of her cousin’s suitors. Rich, pretty, well-mannered, impeccably groomed and garbed. Easily manipulated. St. Clair was nothing like them. A rugged mountain of a man, he was older than Kendra imagined, with square-jawed pleasant looks, congenial smile, and easy manner. Brigit described him as comfortable as an old couch. His mild gaze revealed a shrewd intelligence. And there, she saw the appeal for her flighty cousin. Here was a man who could ground her with his solid presence and hold firm against her tempest winds. And Kendra liked him immediately, her best friend’s human husband.
“Giles, this is Kendra.”
Her small hand disappeared into his. “Ah. The famous soul of reason tethering my bride’s dangerous flights of fancy.”
Brigit gave him a whack. “You were one of those flights.”
“Nothing fancy about me. I’m economy class all the way, but I always get you where you’re going and on time.”
“Yes, you do.”
They exchanged a smoldering glance, making Kendra smile as he bent down to buss her cheek with a warm kiss.
“A difficult job I happily surrender into your capable hands. I’m pleased to finally meet you, Giles.”
“You were the only thing that kept our wedding day from being perfect. Not having you there beside her had Bree blubbering to the point of ruining her mascara, and you know what a tragic event that becomes. I promised I’d make it up to both of you, and I take my promises seriously.”
Kendra’s heart melted. She’d been missed. “I think you just did. Welcome to the family. It’s small, but it’s mighty.”
A big laugh. “That it is.” He glanced around. “Where’s your scrappy little fella? The way he was mooning over you, I expected you two to be attached at the . . . hip.” He grinned at his bride’s censoring glare.
“I don’t know,” Kendra admitted. Her chin firmed and lifted. “But I know what he’s up to, so that’s going to change.”
And Giles’ grin widened, imagining the fireworks to come.
*
After a horrendous day of sweating bullets and thinking about eating one, Cale had nothing to go home to so he ended up on Babineau’s front porch where an equally ragged-looking Alain waved him in.
“Just getting ready to pop in a pizza. Tina and the boy are at school conferences.” He seemed sad and angry, and Cale could identify with both things.
“Sounds good if you don’t mind the company.”
“If you don’t mind mine.” He held the screen wide.
While the Hawaiian with extra pineapple baked—nothing Cale would have ever thought of eating voluntarily—they sat in manly silence watching the news on the big screen over a long neck that turned into a six-pack. When the oven chimed, they carried their paperplated slices and beers outside, into the last warmth of the day. A real Kodak moment for Divorce Club for Men.
“Found out something at work that might interest you.”
At Cale’s announcement, the lethargy dropped from Alain’s posture. He sat upright at attention. “What did you hear?”
As Cale relayed his conversation with T-Ray, excluding the part about his own fall from grace, Babineau sat in thoughtful quiet. Cale could almost hear gears grinding and meshing.
“Cops,” he spat. “As much as I want to say I don’t believe it, I know better. Let’s check it out. Think one of those badass brothers of yours would want to go along for backup?”
“Let me think. Whorehouse. My brothers. We’ll need to take your family minivan.”
“Everyone loves a field trip. Narrow it down to one.”
“I’ll make a call.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Maisy J’s was The Sweat Shop without the pretended class. Everything about it was darkly consensual, from the near non-existent lighting making it almost impossible to recognize the person standing next to you, to the smoky music and smoky air, shadowed corners, and private rooms. No fancy drinks or stripper poles to elevate it above its single purpose: A place to get whatever you wanted without being held accountable.
Alain Babineau knew of it, of course, as a cop on the job and as a cop off the clock. He’d cro
ssed its threshold at a debauched bachelor party for one of the sergeants in the Ninth Ward. After nervously awaiting test results, just in case he had more to regret than just a hangover, he’d crossed it off his list of places to revisit even before he’d gotten married.
Even now, he looked as conspicuous as a high schooler looking for that first blow job. In contrast, the two Terriots beside him blended like chameleons with their dark clothes and menacing presence keeping anyone from giving them a lingering glance. Compared to Cale’s edgy aggression, his brother Colin was all hulking physicality. They hadn’t exchanged any words after Cale made a brief introduction. They weren’t looking for a good time. They were searching for a way to crash the party.
Though there were stools at the long, scarred bar and tiny tables pushed out of the way, patrons mainly mixed and mingled, threading through the standing room only crowd with wallets carefully guarded. By prior consensus, they divided at the door. Colin voiced reluctance to leave his brother’s side, at least until swarmed by a bevy of handsy ladies eager to sample his muscles, his obliging inseam, and his wisely empty pockets. Cale was quickly swallowed up in the mill, leaving Alain to scan the occupants with an eye trained for illegal doings.
It didn’t take an expert to spot them. Everything from pills and smack to guns and greenbacks slid across the bar top. There was nothing discreet about the exchange of a twenty for a quick drop to the knees. Heads bent together over shot glasses arranged everything from mayhem to murder. Cale wasn’t interested in those things. He searched for an identifiable presence. And found it.
He didn’t have a name, but he recognized one of the fighters from Lee’s stable. A massive slab of muscle beneath walnut-colored skin, his handsome face and startling green eyes caught the fancy of career girls as well as customers. He noticed Cale, giving him a nod to come over. Cale took the proffered hand, managing not to wince when bones ground within his grip.
“I seen you last night. I needs to talk to your manager. That were one helluva a trick letting yourself get beaten down, then cleaning house the way you done. I’m Dwight, the Mahogany Mauler.”
“I’m—”
“Gunslinger. I knows you by rep. Glad to meetcha.” He waved over a beer for his new friend. “Whatchu doing in a place like dis?”
Cale offered an enigmatic smile. “What are you doing?”
“Lookin’ to get lucky in love.”
A chuckle. “I don’t think they offer that here.”
A wink. “Next best thing be okay with me. How ’boutchu, little man? Here for some skirt?”
“In the market for something recreational. Know anyone who can hook me up?”
Noting his shaky hands, Dwight nodded empathetically. “Shore thang. Sammy,” he bellowed above the noise. “C’mere!”
A skinny black kid all of maybe sixteen wound through the patrons like a starved alley cat scenting a meal. He grinned, displaying a blinding gold grill. “What can I do you for?”
“My brother here needs a little lift. You take care a him?”
A sniff. “'Course. Whatchu need? Something to level or something to soar.”
Before Cale could answer, Dwight pounded him on the back, probably knocking his vertebrae out of alignment. “He wants to fly like an eagle, doancha, little bro?”
Cale reached into the pocket custom sewn into the cuff of his jacket and flashed a fifty between his fingers. It disappeared in an agile exchange with a small packet.
Dwight watched him eye the mixture, seeing the desire, the need, the hunger, and frowned as Cale started to tuck the packet away, saying, “For later.”
“Oh, hell no!” Dwight plucked it from him and, before Cale could stop him, swirled the entire contents into his mug of beer. “It’s time to party!” He pushed it at Cale, demanding, “Bottoms up.”
Cale glanced from the drink to the piercing green eyes of an impatiently waiting predator. Seeing no way out if he wanted to get any information at all, he took the mug and started to sip. Dwight nudged a finger beneath the bottom, tipping the glass all the way up, giving him no choice except to swallow the entire contents.
He took a staggering step, gasping for breath as the raw Kick hit like a two-by-four. Dwight caught him under the arms to keep him on his feet, patting his head in a friendly manner.
“I gotchu, brother. Enjoy the flight.”
*
Against all the carnal odors packed into the den of sin, a tease of the familiar had Colin tensed and watchful. He skimmed the faces closest to him, nothing clicking until he caught sight of stylishly cut russet hair above the flash of cool blue eyes. James?
He pushed through the tightly packed throng, searching for another sign of their brother gone rogue. Smoke haze and sweat clouded the trail. The noise confused his concentration. He shoved his way hurriedly, only to have his quarry find him.
Something sharp pierced through his clothing near a kidney, getting his attention. Going still to discourage the knife tip from doing more than breaking skin, Colin growled, “You planning to end me, brother, like you tried with Cale?”
“Just need you to listen for a minute without doing something we’ll both regret. Don’t turn around.”
“Hiding behind my back like a coward, Jamie? Is that what you’ve become?”
A laugh and a hand upon his shoulder. The knife didn’t retreat. “I always liked you better than the rest, Colin. You’re a thinker, not a hot head. We’re alike in that.”
“I don’t think so. I haven’t tried to kill one of my brothers. Yet.” The blade withdrew. Colin released a cautious breath. “So talk.”
“Cale. He’s not the leader our clan needs.”
“Yeah? Better a drug dealer like you?”
“Our father may have been a sadistic bastard, but he knew the only way to keep our clan safe was to keep it separate and strong. So what does our new king do? Is he fortifying our stronghold, unifying our people? No. He’s abandoned us in favor of those who’ve always betrayed us. He humbles himself to become a lap dog to this outsider, Savoie. He thinks the Guedrys can be reasoned with, trusted! Do you want the likes of them walking our streets, breathing our clean air, sitting at our tables, fucking our mothers and sisters?” A low rumble of objection encouraged James to continue passionately.
“There’s only weakness in becoming less than we are to join with the other clans. Cale’s making us vulnerable by pulling our teeth. They’ve got him rolling over with his throat exposed. You see that, don’t you?”
Colin had a hard time seeing anything, imagining his beautiful mother and younger sisters in the cruel hands of the Guedry terrorists who’d killed his step-father and half-brothers.“What’s your better plan?” he asked.
James leaned in close enough for Colin to feel warm breath against his neck. “Let Cale bring them to the table, get them to trust us, to think us tame, then slaughter their leaders like the vicious beasts they are and enslave their clans.”
A very Terriot plan.
“What do you want from me?”
The sound of Cale’s shredding war cry rolled above the noisy ambiance, calling Colin from their discussion.
“Stay close to Cale.” James urged with silky insistence. “I’ll be in touch.”
Colin found himself alone with his brother’s words roiling through heart and mind.
*
He was weightless, being carried aloft as the world rushed around him in a dizzy, hyperventilating whirl. His senses filled with discord, the smell of brackish water, moisture laden air, and wet leather, his skin tight and tingling, his muscles jerking, trembling uncontrollably. Sounds swooped and screamed like birds of prey, sometimes quieting to a hum almost like words. Running hot, cold, sweaty then dry, the taste of sickness and of something bitter lying foul in his mouth.
What was happening to him?
A low distressed moan rattled loose, bringing a large palm to cup the side of his head, steadying him in place and time.
“It’s okay. I’ve got
you, brother. I’ve got you.”
He clung to the low soothing tones and anchoring right hand with its familiar wide band on the ring finger. The leather scent came from his brother’s coat where his cheek mashed up against it, the curl of his strong arm holding him up.
“Col . . . wha—”
“Don’t try to talk. You’re gonna be all right.”
Cale eyes fluttered, rolled, and finally closed as he let go, secure in that promise.
“He making any sense yet?” Babineau called from the front seat.
“Not much.”
Alain frowned, glance alternating from the road ahead and the two in his rearview. “What the hell was that about?”
“I don’t know.”
He found surly Colin Terriot no fount of information. The worried look on his face gave away more than his sparse syllables. Babineau was grateful for his presence. He couldn’t have handled Cale on his own.
What the hell had happened?
He’d gone looking for his brother-in-law in the seething mass of humanity, that sudden nerve-rending cry targeting an area by the bar. He’d arrived just in time to see Cale send a bloodied fellow skidding down its length, clearing glasses and patrons as if playing shuffleboard. When one of the club’s bouncers tried to restrain him, he got flipped over the bar top for his trouble, his feet crashing through the glass shelved liquor bottles.
Alain skidded to a halt, stunned by the change in his brother-in-law from badass to very bad news. Completely out of control bad news bent on tearing up the place along with anyone who got in his way. Until his brother Colin strode up to plant a massive fist to his temple, bending to catch him as he dropped. Securing Cale’s slack form over one broad shoulder, he passed a wad of cash to the screaming bartender with a calm, “This should take care of it. Have a nice night.” Babineau quickly followed in the wide path the crowd opened to allow the Shifter room to exit with his shouldered burden.
In the parking lot, where an unpleasant drizzle streaked through the smeary halogen glare, Colin dumped his brother into the open bed of a pickup to rhythmically slap him back to awareness, demanding, “What did you do? Cale, what did you do?”
